Sir Hilton knocked out one of the chariots, but the impact of the chariot also made the two cavalrymen ineffective, Sir looked at the battlefield like smoke, even wearing leather gloves, he could feel the cold, the sky was getting heavier and heavier, and the ground became muddy.

"Good opportunity." Sir Hilton glanced at the ground, and he immediately shouted to his companions.

"What, Sir?" The cavalry, who had escaped the frenzied battlefield, circled around Sir Hilton's side, and they asked curiously.

"Look, the ground is getting wet and muddy, and the rebel chariots will definitely not be able to gallop, so quickly destroy the chariots and support the infantry of the vassals." Sir Hilton raised the rolled up banner and kicked the horse's belly with the spur of his heel, ignoring the rain dripping from his helmet.

As Sir Hilton had predicted, the chariot, without springs and steel spokes, soon sank into the mud, the chariot that had lost its speed was completely turned into a target for infantry and cavalry, the warriors of the north who bravely wielded their tomahawks were stabbed to death with spears by the soldiers of the surrounding vassals, and the serfs who drove were dragged out of the carriage and split to pieces.

"Damn, why doesn't the god of war favor us?" Woolf looked up in exasperation, cursing at the falling rain, but even then he didn't flinch.

"Ah, kill them." Bruce roared loudly, his voice hoarse, the dismounted nobles were no different from ordinary infantrymen, mud covered his boots, the Greenton militiamen shivered and clenched their wooden spears, the rain seeped through their bodies, their hair became wet, and water dripped.

"Uh-huh." The militia struggled to dwell in the mud, but fortunately the attacking serfs were even more unbearable, and the tired and muddy ground made both sides listlessly waving their weapons.

"Smack, smack, smack." When several serfs rushed forward to attack the phalanx, the militiamen immediately raised their wooden spears and struck each other from top to bottom, knocking the serfs into the head.

"Be careful." Edward had a thick linen tied to his face, his hand was on Stukov's shoulder, and in the other hand he carried his own sword, which was almost impossible to escape if there was an enemy trying to attack from the flank, as well as Stukov's throwing knife.

"These people are endless." Stukov put his gray hood on, his one-eyed eye searching the crowd for the enemy, his long dagger and throwing knife in his hand.

"Attack, attack." Just when the Glinton militia phalanx was surrounded by serfs, the vassals led their own soldiers to come to support, and soon the sound of weapons clashing and screaming sounded around the phalanx, only the last time it was through the shield wall, and this time the Bemessi found to rely on the Glinton militia phalanx.

"Lord Bruce, can you go ahead and attack." Baron Leopold thrust his sword into the chest of a serf, kicked it with his foot, looked at the vassal soldiers who had come to support, and said loudly to Bruce.

"Oh." Bruce watched through the spears of the militia and the gaps in the crowd, and as the rain became heavier and heavier, he could barely see the figures around him, in which case the attack was not good.

At this moment, the White Knight and Carlos also noticed the effect of the rain, and they immediately ordered the serfs to return to the camp, where a yeoman farmer on horseback was running across the battlefield, conveying the White Knight's orders as he rode his horse.

"Retreat, retreat."

The Duke of Bemessi, on his part, also felt that there was no point in continuing the war, because the heavy rain had darkened the sky, and there was no way to continue the war in such a situation.

"Collect the troops, retreat, retreat." The duke's heralds also conveyed orders to the vassals.

A heavy rain caused both sides of the fierce battle to retreat, and the wounded soldiers helped each other back to their stations, while the Greenton militia was still waiting for Bruce's orders in the rain.

"Master Bruce, it's time for us to retreat." Baron Leopold wiped a handful of rain from his face, and when the attacking enemy retreated, he felt sore and tired, and several guards hurriedly hugged him, and Baron Leopold did not forget to remind Bruce when he returned.

"Master Leopold, you go first, and we'll come later." Bruce said to Baron Leopold, but he and the Greenton militia did not plan to leave, instead Bruce demarcated an area with a wave of his hand and ordered the militia to guard it.

"After cleaning up, go and call the merchants from the battlefield." Bruce took his horse and handed it to Stukov and said to him.

The so-called battlefield merchants were the merchants who followed the army around during the war, they could be slave traders, hawkers of goods, or even pimps. According to the terms of the agreement, Kevin old will pay Bruce a hundred silver coins for each battle, and Bruce will give Kevin the old Kevin the right to clean the battlefield after the battle, but after Bruce himself has swept the weapons and equipment on the battlefield.

This time there were not many weapons and equipment that could be swept on the battlefield, and the serfs themselves were a poorly equipped rebel army, but even so, a lot of spears and shields were collected.

"Lord Baron, there's basically nothing of value here." Old Kevin followed Stukov to the battlefield in high spirits, but found that the valuable weapons had basically been taken away by the Grintons, and the poor jingle serfs did not have much valuable things on them, and it was really worthwhile to brave the rain to come this trip, so he couldn't help but complain to Bruce.

"Greedy merchants, we have agreed according to the agreement, and you are unlucky to have no loot." Stukov said angrily to Kevin Sr.

"Yes, yes, but." Old Kevin had to bow his head and bow down, but his facial features were almost twisted together, and if the loot he got was less than a hundred silver coins, then he would have lost his money.

"Wait Stukov, the merchants' complaints are not unreasonable." Bruce got on his horse at this point, he wrapped his cloak around his body, the wind and rain were bitterly cold, and he looked around with a frown.

"Uh-huh." On the muddy ground, there was a moaning sound, the wail of some seriously wounded serfs, who were left on the battlefield to die when their companions retreated, too late to take them away.

"There's a way." Bruce listened to the faint moaning in the rain, and he said to Kevin Sr. with an idea.

"What's the solution?" Kevin Sr. looked up in wonder, and the rain ran down his smooth bald top and down his chin.